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Zen promotes the rediscovery of the obvious, which is so often lost in its familiarity and simplicity. It sees the miraculous in the common and magic in our everyday surroundings. When we are not rushed, and our minds are unclouded by conceptualizations, a veil will sometimes drop, introducing the viewer to a world unseen since childhood. ~ John Greer

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Congratulations!Congratulations, you are alive. Here you are. Once, you weren’t here. And oneday, you won’t be. All your drama and trauma, all your ideas, all the thingsyou like and don’t like, all the things that happen that you judge your life byare but a dream. Just a dream. Dreams are not to be taken lightly, but theyare dreams.

In the middle of all these dreams, there is a place within you where you cantruly be awake. In that awakening, there is no judgment. There aren’t issuesof good and bad, right and wrong. You are not judged. There are no yardsticksand no races. Nobody is standing there saying, “You won” or “You lost.” Just abeautiful reality that you are alive.

You have the ability to understand, to know, to admire. These are yourqualities. You have the ability to get angry and the ability to be calm. Youhave the ability to be in turmoil and the ability to be in peace. Which do you use the most? Frustration. Anger. Disappointment.

Once in awhile, you actually find yourself happy. When you are, it is such a big deal that you think about it for years tocome. And when you get older and your short‑term memory goes, you will say, “I remember when I was there. Oh, that was so beautiful.”

You have some other qualities: You can appreciate this existence. You can truly be happy in a timeless way—no camera needed, no special circumstances required. You can be in the joy that springs from your heart every single day.

Most people are trying to understand their mind. People have been trying to dothat for an extremely long time. And they never will. They write books and saybeautiful things, but it is like having a garden that looks spectacular though everyflower is made out of paper and every tree is plastic. The grass is fake, so youdon’t ever have to cut it.

The disadvantage is that flowers don’t bloom there and spring never comes. Beesnever fly, no flower has a beautiful aroma, and the trees do not sway in the wind.Even though it all looks pretty, it is static—as in dead.

That is why it is so important to have a living experience. Living. Breathing.Existing. Feeling. Thinking. Understanding. Knowing. That’s what is real.

What does your garden look like? Have you smelled the flowers? Have you ever seen a bee? Are there birds in the trees? Is there a season when it looks fine and you are content?

People get used to being frustrated. They get used to being mad, upset. Theysay, “That’s life. Good times, bad times—it’s all okay.” What is okay? Me beinglost? Me ignoring my own nature? Me being away from myself? Me notrecognizing myself?

That’s why every one of us needs so desperately to understand that there canbe no compromises, that an effort needs to be made every single day to see,to feel what we have been given—from the heart, from our very basic being.

Know that a time will come when all that you rely on will slowly fade away.What will remain? You. You will still be able to experience, but erosion is afoot.It happens so slowly you don’t notice it, but it’s afoot. Every day, everysecond, it marches on, but above it floats a beautiful reality that is timeless.You are alive. And till the day you are alive no more, you can go inside andfeel happiness; you can feel joy.

There is hope. Your heart is knocking on the door. Open up. Feel, see, understand, realize, know. Be in that joy, be inthat feeling every moment. Understand the beauty of the possibility to feel clarity, to feel gratitude, to be thankful to bealive. I’m here to remind you: don’t wait. Wake up. See, feel, admire, be a part of your existence.

Monday, May 18, 2009

PoliticsOne has to be a lowbrow, a bit of a murderer, to be a politician, ready and willing to see people sacrificed, slaughtered for the sake of an idea, whether a good one or a bad one.From Writers at Work by Henry Miller.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

BicyclesI took to calling my bike my friend, I carried on silent conversations with it. And of course I paid it the best attention. Which meant that every time I returned home I stood the bike upside down, searched for a clean rag and polished the hubs and the spokes. Then I cleaned the chain and greased it afresh. That operation left ugly stains on the stone in the walkway. My mother would complain, beg me to put a newspaper under my wheel before starting to clean it. Sometimes she would get so incensed that she would say to me in full sarcasm, 'I'm surprised you don't take that thing to bed with you!' And I would retort -- 'I would if I had a decent room and a big enough bed.

After a time, habituated to spending so many hours a day on my bike, I became less and less interested in my friends. My wheel had now become my one and only friend. I could relay on it, which is more than I could say about my buddies. It's too bad no one ever photographed me with my friend. I would give anything now to know what we looked like.

I took care of my wheel as one would look after a Rolls Royce. If it needed repairs I always brought it to the same shop on Myrtle Avenue run by a named Ed Perry. He handled the bike with kid gloves, you might say. He would always see to it that neither front nor back wheel wobbled. Often he would do a job for me without pay, because, as he put it, he never saw a man so in love with his bike as I was.

Often I was in the saddle, so to speak, from morning till evening. I rode everywhere and usually at a good clip. Some days, I encountered some of the six-day riders at the fountain in Prospect Park. They would permit me to set the pace for them along the smooth path that led from the Park to Coney Island.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

The spirit listens only when the speaker speaks in gestures. And gestures do not mean signs or body movements, but acts of true abandon, acts of largesse, of humor. As a gesture for the spirit, warriors bring out the best of themselves and silently offer it to the abstract.Carlos Castaneda.

Friday, May 8, 2009

A lover knows only humility, he has no choice.He steals into your alley at night, he has no choice.He longs to kiss every lock of your hair, don't fret,he has no choice.In his frenzied love for you, he longs to break the chains of his imprisonment,he has no choice.

A lover asked his beloved:- Do you love yourself more than you love me?Beloved replied: I have died to myself and I live for you.I've disappeared from myself and my attributes,I am present only for you.I've forgotten all my learnings,but from knowing you I've become a scholar.I've lost all my strength, but from your power I am able.

I love myself...I love you.I love you...I love myself.

I am your lover, come to my side,I will open the gate to your love.Come settle with me, let us be neighbours to the stars.You have been hiding so long, endlessly drifting in the sea of my love.Even so, you have always been connected to me.Concealed, revealed, in the unknown, in the un-manifest.I am life itself.

You have been a prisoner of a little pond,I am the ocean and its turbulent flood.Come merge with me,leave this world of ignorance.Be with me, I will open the gate to your love.

I desire you more than food or drinkMy body my senses my mind hunger for your tasteI can sense your presence in my heartalthough you belong to all the worldI wait with silent passion for one gesture one glancefrom you.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

LetterTo My Loved Ones in Mexico: This, Too, Shall Pass.To the Editor:Last Friday morning, my phone woke me up. “There is a flu epidemic. Schools are closed.”My mother’s voice came in waves. I didn’t know what she was talking about. I hadn’t heard anything or read anything in the Mexican newspapers. Since I hung up with my mother, I’ve been experiencing whatever feelings an expatriate is supposed to feel: fear, anguish, sadness and, of course, a little dose of guilt. I fear for my family and friends, I worry for what is happening, I am sad for my city, and I feel guilty for being in New York and not with them.“How could this happen?” I kept asking myself and Drew, who listened to me for hours rant about the absurdity of the situation, unable to provide answers.This was not the way it was supposed to happen. The apocalypse had to come from outside.This is what hundreds of films, books and songs have taught us. When the nuclear holocaust happens, we, the inhabitants of Mexico City, will defeat radiation and become, next to cockroaches, the only living beings on the planet. We survive constant waves of crime and have been hostages of violence, corruption and popular demonstrations that choke the city every day. We drink the water from our faucets (sometimes) and eat street food whose secret ingredient is salmonella without the smallest discomfort. How could this happen to us?

I spent the weekend staring at pictures of my empty city and couldn’t avoid crying. But the thing about epidemics is that they take time. And we are not used to things that take time. We want immediacy and certainty.People have been working from home. Restaurants are closed. Bars closed before churches did.Mel is heartbroken because the event that would consolidate her own public relations firm was canceled and months of work were wasted. “Canceled,” she said, when I asked if it hadn’t been postponed. I knew she had tears in her eyes.Noni wakes up every morning hopeful. But when she peeks out of her Roma neighborhood apartment, the sun is shining but the streets are empty. It’s the collective nightmare that never ends.Monica thought it was an overreaction from the government until a woman in her office fell ill. Now she wants to play Six Degrees of Separation. The target is not Kevin Bacon but a victim of flu. Yes, we are Mexicans and prone to laugh at our misfortunes. Cynicism is our best medicine.And today, my fellow Mexicans, a week into the emergency, you can’t and shall not forget this. You are a survivor. It’s in your DNA. But we are not bulletproof. We are vulnerable and should take care of one another.

Next time you are stuck in traffic, swearing and hating the city, you might remember how good chaos is and how wonderful routine feels when you lose it. I know it’s easy for me to say. I am in Brooklyn being a passive observer of what is happening in my city.And yes, Noni, one morning (very soon) you will wake up and the sun will be shining, the streets will be flooded with people and a demonstration will make you late for that appointment. The collective nightmare will be over.Cristina PadrésBrooklyn, April 30, 2009The writer is a curriculum developer and editor from Mexico City living in New York.New York Times

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Xochicalco ("sho-chee-cal-co") is a pre-Columbian archaeological site in the western part of the Mexican state of Morelos. The name Xochicalco may be translated from Nahuatl as "in the (place of the) house of Flowers". The site is located 38 km southwest of Cuernavaca, about 76 miles by road from Mexico City. The site is open to visitors all week, from 10am to 5pm, although access to the observatory is only allowed after noon. The apogee of Xochicalco came after the fall of Teotihuacan and it has been speculated that Xochicalco may have played a part in the fall of the Teotihuacan empire. It has been speculated that Xochicalco may have had a community of artists from other parts of Mesoamerica.

The architecture and iconography of Xochicalco show affinities with Teotihuacan, the Maya area, and the Matlatzinca culture of the Toluca Valley. Today some residents of the nearby village of Cuentepec speak Nahuatl.

The main ceremonial center is atop an artificially leveled hill, with remains of residential structures, mostly unexcavated, on long terraces covering the slopes. The site was first occupied by 200 BC, but did not develop into an urban center until the Epiclassic period (A.D. 700 - 900). Nearly all the standing architecture at the site was built at this time. At its peak, the city may have had a population of up to 20,000 people. [Wiki]

Friday, May 1, 2009

"I take a bottle of wine and I go drink it among the flowers.We are allways three ... counting my shadow and my friend the shimmering moon.Happily the moon knows nothing of drinking, and my shadow is never thirsty.When I sing, the moon listens to me in silence. When I dance, my shadow dances too.After all festivities the guests must depart. This sadness I do not know.When I go home, the moon goes with me and my shadow follows me"

Photo Carraol Images of Mexico City.A delightful photo blog that ensnares the beauty of urban life in Mexico City in a varied and visually arresting style. Simply stunning work of a consistently high quality.